The air was thick with the scent of freshly bloomed flowers, a perfume that wafted through the streets, mingling with the distant echoes of drums, trumpets, and flutes that heralded the beginning of the celebrations. The festival was a magnificent convergence of the harvest season and the Gerwanasian New Year, a day when every town, city, and village across the country was transformed into a kaleidoscope of colors and joy.
Fheniz, however, was not caught up in the excitement. His morning began with a sense of obligation as he prepared to deliver the day's newspapers. Unlike most days, he felt a strange pull to do something different, to break the monotony of his usual routine. Today, he decided, he would knock on Mr. Palket's door and personally wish the old man a happy festival. Perhaps the warmth of a friendly conversation would lighten the burden that had settled in his heart ever since he delved into those accursed history books.
With this thought, Fheniz hurried through the town, his feets' slippers kicking up dust as he weaved through the bustling streets. Despite the festivities that were already in full swing, he was focused on his task. The town was alive with the sights and sounds of celebration—vendors lining the streets, selling everything from sweets to handcrafted ornaments, children chasing each other in games of tag, and families gathering to decorate their homes with garlands of vibrant flowers. The town square, normally a place of commerce, had been transformed into a stage for musicians and dancers, who performed with a joy that was palpable in every note and movement.
Fheniz paid little mind to the festivities as he made his way to Mr. Palket's house. He passed through the old iron gate and approached the door, knocking politely. The house stood quiet and still, a stark contrast to the clamor of the festival outside. He knocked again, but there was no response. He was about to knock a third time when he heard a voice behind him.
"Oii, boy!" called an old lady, her voice sharp but not unkind. Fheniz turned to see Mrs. Wenshy, the elderly neighbor who lived next door, approaching him on her morning walk. Her frail figure was wrapped in a colorful shawl, and she leaned heavily on a cane as she shuffled toward him. "There's no one in the house, that guy Mr. Palket has gone to celebrate today's day with his family and grandchildren who live in another city."
Fheniz nodded, absorbing the information. "Oh, thank you for telling me, but where has he gone exactly?"
Mrs. Wenshy peered at him curiously, her eyes narrowing. "First tell me, boy, who are you? I've seen you sometimes, here and there."
"Oh yeah, sorry!" Fheniz replied with a sheepish smile. "My name is Fheniz Wrings, with a 'W.' I'm like a friend to Uncle Palket who lives here."
"Wrings with a 'W'?" Mrs. Wenshy repeated, her expression softening. "Sounds like wings with rings. Wait, are you the newspaper boy?"
"Yes, ma'am, exactly," Fheniz said, nodding.
"Oh, alright, alright! Yes, Mr. Palket sometimes talks about you. So, what do you want from him?"
"Actually, nothing much," Fheniz explained. "I had just come to deliver the newspaper, and as it's the festival day, I thought to wish him too, but he isn't here, so…"
Mrs. Wenshy nodded sagely. "I see, no worries. He's gone to Edenrun—that's where his son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren live."
"Where is Edenrun?" Fheniz asked, curiosity piqued.
"Well, boy, it's far. It's in the state of Futonvisa, somewhere in the Midwest."
"Ahh, alright. Thank you."
"Don't worry, wish him when he comes back!"
"Yeah, sure! Thanks a lot, Mrs...?"
"Mrs. Wenshy, dear."
"Absolutely! Thank you, Mrs. Wenshy."
With that, Fheniz left the quiet street behind, the morning sun now fully rising into the sky. Despite the noise and clamor of the festival that surrounded him, he felt a strange emptiness. The thought of celebrating alone weighed heavily on his mind. His Uncle Burohagi was off in Kharsa, and now Uncle Palket was in Edenrun. It seemed that everyone had somewhere to be, except him.
The streets of Venlores were bursting with life as people of all ages took to the streets to celebrate Natsika-Esdoranma. This was a national holiday, and the entire country seemed to have put its daily grind on hold for this one day of unbridled joy. The air was filled with laughter and the sounds of folk music as people danced in the streets, their brightly colored traditional garments flowing as they spun and twirled. The men wore loose pants and long kurtas adorned with intricate embroidery and long robes on them of the same. Their outfits completed by small golden turbans that gleamed in the sunlight. The women wore equally elaborate attire, their dresses billowing as they moved, the colors of their garments a stunning array of reds, blues, greens, purples and golds.
Everywhere Fheniz looked, there were flowers—so many flowers that it seemed as if the entire town had been swallowed by a garden.
But for all the beauty and joy around him, Fheniz couldn't shake the sense of isolation that clung to him. He wandered through the streets aimlessly, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he had no one to share this day with. The festive atmosphere only seemed to accentuate his loneliness. As he walked, he began to make his way toward the outskirts of town, where the noise of the celebration faded into the background, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant calls of birds.
Fheniz decided that if he was to spend this festival day alone, he would do it somewhere peaceful, away from the noise and chaos of the town. The upside-down mountains—his favorite spot—seemed like the perfect place to escape.
As he prepared to leave, his eyes fell on the pile of history books stacked haphazardly on his bed. The darkness within those pages still called to him, an inexplicable pull that he couldn't quite understand. He hesitated, then decided to take a few volumes with him. Perhaps he could find some answers in their pages, or at the very least, distract himself from the emptiness.
He packed the second, third, and fourth volumes into a worn leather satchel and slung it over his shoulder. With one last glance at the cluttered interior of his small house, Fheniz set out on the familiar path to the upside-down mountains. The journey took him just over an hour, the brisk walk helping to clear his mind as he left the town and its celebrations behind.
The air grew cooler as he climbed higher, the trees thinning out to reveal the strange, twisted rock formations that gave the mountains their name. As he reached the spot where he and Burohagikun had once sat, Fheniz felt a pang of longing for the old man's company. But he pushed the thought aside and settled down on the soft grass, the satchel heavy in his lap.
He pulled out the second volume and opened it to where he had left off. The pages felt cold against his fingertips, the words within a stark contrast to the bright and beautiful day around him. The darkness of the history seemed to seep out from the pages, wrapping around him like a shroud. But Fheniz was determined to continue.
While Fheniz sought solitude in the mountains, Burohagikun had arrived in Kharsa the day before. The capital city of Gerwanis was a dazzling spectacle, a place where the festival of Natsika-Esdoranma was celebrated with even more grandeur and splendor than in the smaller towns. The streets were packed with people, the air thick with the scent of incense and flowers, the sound of music echoing off the stone walls of the ancient city.
Kharsa was a city built around the grand Pyramid Palace, an architectural marvel that dominated the skyline. The palace itself was the heart of the festival, its vast courtyards and halls filled with nobles, dignitaries, and citizens alike, all gathered to partake in the celebrations. The palace was adorned with an unimaginable array of flowers, each more vibrant than the last. It was said that over 80 billion flowers of 80 billion different species and 80 billion different colors of flowers had been used to decorate the palace, turning it into a living garden of unparalleled beauty.
Burohagikun, wide-eyed and grinning like a child, wandered through the festival with unbridled enthusiasm. He had never seen anything like it. The streets were a riot of color, with people dancing in elaborate costumes, their movements perfectly synchronized with the beat of the drums and the melodies of the flutes. There were gunshots in the air, not of violence, but of celebration—blanks fired into the sky as a salute to the Gods and to the new year.
The city was alive with joy, a joy so infectious that Burohagikun couldn't help but join in. He danced with strangers in the streets, his rough laughter mingling with the others that filled the air. The sun shone brightly overhead, casting a warm glow on the sea of people that flooded every corner of the city. It was the most perfect day, a day where the worries of the world seemed to melt away in the face of such overwhelming happiness that included even tourists. There were a million screams with a billion dances with a trillion laughs. That particular day, Gerwanis was the most colorful/vibrant and happy country in the world.
"I wish that Fheniz brat was here with me," Burohagikun mused aloud as he watched a group of dancers perform the traditional 'flower dance'. The dancers moved with a grace that seemed almost supernatural, their bodies forming intricate shapes and patterns that mimicked the natural behavior of flowers. The flower dance was a visual spectacle unlike any other, with dancers twirling and spinning, their movements so fluid that they seemed to become the very flowers they were emulating. Petals rained down from above, creating a cascade of color that shimmered in the sunlight.
The flower showers were another highlight of the day, with massive baskets of flowers being tipped over from the rooftops, showering the crowds below with a torrent of petals. The flowers danced on the wind, swirling and twirling in a mesmerizing display that left everyone breathless. The streets became rivers of color, with petals piling up in drifts, their sweet fragrance filling the air.
Burohagikun's heart swelled with joy as he watched the spectacle unfold. "He could've learned so much, seen so much. This place is a wonder, a feast for the eyes and soul!" he thought, his mind drifting to the young boy who had become like a son to him. But there was no time for regret. Today was a day of celebration, and Burohagikun was determined to enjoy every moment of it.
As the day wore on, the festival reached its peak. The sun was high in the sky, casting long shadows over the city as the people of Kharsa continued to revel in the festivities. The streets were packed, every inch of space filled with bodies, as the city's population swelled to impossible numbers. It seemed as though the entire country had descended upon the capital, each person eager to take part in the celebrations.
But for Burohagikun, the highlight of the day was yet to come. The shoe-making competition prize ceremony was scheduled for the afternoon, and he had been waiting for this moment with bated breath. After years of hard work and countless hours spent in his shop, the time had finally come to see if his efforts would actually be rewarded to what he and Fheniz deserved.
The ceremony was to take place on a grand stage set up at the base of the Pyramid Palace. The stage itself was an impressive structure, made of light brown stone that gleamed in the afternoon sun. It was elevated above the crowd, accessible by seventy-two wide steps that had been built on either side. The stage was decorated with garlands of flowers, their colors a vibrant contrast against the stone, and banners bearing the royal crest fluttered in the breeze.
The crowd was immense, a sea of people that stretched as far as the eye could see. Burohagikun stood among the nominees and participants, who had been given a special seating area close to the stage. His eyes roamed over the crowd, taking in the sight of so many people gathered in one place. The atmosphere was electric, charged with anticipation as the time for the ceremony drew near.
At the center of the stage stood King Ishizal Lensior himself, resplendent in a dark blue coat adorned with golden embroidery. His presence commanded respect, his posture regal as he waved to the crowd. The people responded with a roar of approval, their cheers echoing through the city like the sound of a billion trumpets. Burohagikun had only ever seen the king in newspapers, but seeing him in person was an entirely different experience. The king's fair skin and neatly trimmed beard gave him an air of dignity, while his short, flat hair was perfectly styled, completing the image of a ruler.
The ceremony began with the king's address to the people, his voice carrying across the square with ease. He spoke of the importance of tradition, of the pride he felt in the craftsmen of Gerwanis, and of the significance of the festival to the nation's identity. His words were met with thunderous applause, the crowd hanging on his every word.
Then came the moment everyone had been waiting for—the distribution of the prizes. The awards were to be given in descending order, starting from the thousandth place and working their way down to the grand prize. The tension in the air was palpable as the first names were called, and the winners stepped forward to receive their awards.
Burohagikun's heart raced as he listened, his eyes fixed on the stage. This was it—the culmination of years of work, of countless hours spent perfecting his craft. As the numbers ticked down, he felt a mixture of hope and anxiety building within him. Would his name be called? Would his work be recognized among the best in the nation?
The sun continued its slow descent in the sky, casting a warm glow over the stage as the ceremony progressed. The crowd watched with bated breath, the excitement building with each passing moment. It was sure that the ceremony would go on till the night as there were a thousand people to be given a thousand prizes, and the king was going to take time appreciating the ideas behind each pair of shoes that gave them the wins they deserved, as each winner came on the stage.
.....
The world held its breath, unaware of the impending disaster that was about to unfold. The day had begun like any other, but the tension that lingered in the air was palpable. In mission control centers of the departments, scientists and engineers bustled with activity, their eyes fixed on monitors that displayed the status of the Death Ray, a creation born of the combined genius of the Department of Weaponries and the Department of Aerospace Engineering. The project had been shrouded in secrecy for years, and now, it was on the verge of being unleashed in a demonstration that would either cement their dominance or end in catastrophe.
In the largest mission control room, a sea of glowing screens reflected off the polished metal surfaces, casting a mysterious blue light across the room. Rows of scientists sat at their consoles, their hands gliding over keyboards, typing in codes and commands that would control the most powerful weapon that had ever been created. The hum of machinery filled the air, mingling with the soft murmur of voices as the team communicated with each other, their tones a mixture of excitement and pride.
"All systems are green," reported one of the senior engineers, a man in his late sixties with graying hair and a stern expression. He sat at the center console, overseeing the entire operation. His voice was calm, but there was a flicker of anticipation in his eyes. "Initiating final pre-launch checks."
A young scientist, her fingers dancing over the keys with precision, confirmed the status of the Death Ray's alignment. "Target locked on the designated lunar satellite. Beam trajectory is optimal, deviation less than 0.01 degrees."
"Good, good," the senior engineer nodded, his gaze fixed on the data streaming across his screen. "Begin energy accumulation sequence. Let's bring this baby to full power."
"Roger that," came the response from another technician, her voice laced with excitement. She pressed a series of buttons, and the lights in the room dimmed slightly as the massive capacitors of the Death Ray began to charge. The hum grew louder, resonating through the floor as the energy levels spiked.
"This is history in the making," said a scientist sitting a few rows back, his eyes wide with awe as he watched the power readings climb higher and higher. "We're about to rewrite the rules of warfare and space exploration."
A chuckle echoed through the room, followed by a voice filled with pride. "Not just warfare. This is the future of planetary defense, asteroid mining, you name it. The applications are endless."
The senior engineer leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing with satisfaction as he surveyed the data. "It's about time the world saw what we're capable of. We've spent years refining this technology. Tonight, the Yahunyens will show the universe that we are the undisputed masters of both the heavens and the cores."
A ripple of agreement passed through the room, a shared sense of achievement. They were on the brink of something monumental, something that would change the course of history. The Death Ray was more than just a weapon; it was a symbol of their ingenuity, their dominance, and their right to rule.
"Energy levels at 75%," reported the young scientist again, her voice steady despite the adrenaline that coursed through her veins. "Everything's stable. No anomalies detected."
The senior engineer nodded, his fingers tapping the edge of his console as he watched the final preparations unfold. "Excellent!"
Across the world, people were glued to their screens, watching the live broadcasts with bated breath. News outlets had been hyping the event for weeks, and now, the moment was almost upon them. In Gerwanis, some of the more curious citizens had tuned in after a day of celebration, their faces lit by the glow of their televisions as they discussed the implications of the Death Ray's test.
But for the majority of Gerwanis, the day was still one of festivity and joy. The clamor of Natsika-Esdoranma filled the streets, and the people were still dancing, laughing, and celebrating as if there were no tomorrow. The colors of the festival were as vibrant as ever, and the music played on, unceasing, as the night approached.
Horozonday, those days younger, was too watching it from his palace, his smile showed the value of the Yahunyens' supremacy.
The sun had dipped below the horizon hours ago, but the celebration in Kharsa showed no signs of slowing down. The streets were still alive with the sounds of drums, laughter, and the clatter of feet dancing to the rhythm of the festival. However, for Burohagikun, the festival's charm had started to wear thin as the long hours of waiting began to take their toll. He had been in the designated seating area for participants and nominees since early afternoon, and now, with over six hundred prizes already awarded, he couldn't help but feel a creeping doubt settle in his mind.
His heart had been racing with excitement when the ceremony first began, each announcement sending a thrill through him as he anticipated hearing his name called. But as the numbers dwindled, his excitement gave way to uncertainty. The king, who had been tirelessly standing and presenting the prizes, was showing signs of fatigue himself. There had been breaks between the awards, during which the crowd had dispersed to enjoy the food stalls and entertainment that dotted the grounds of the Pyramid Palace. Burohagikun, however, had stayed rooted to his spot, his eyes fixed on the stage, his heart filled with a mixture of hope and anxiety.
"What if I don't win anything at all?" he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd. The thought gnawed at him, a bitter pill that was hard to swallow. He had placed so much hope in this competition—not just for himself, but for Fheniz as well. The two of them had poured their hearts into crafting those shoes, each stroke of the design, each detail of the construction had been a labor of love.
As the numbers continued to be called, Burohagikun found it harder and harder to remain optimistic. His thoughts drifted to Fheniz, alone back in Venlores. He had hoped to return with good news, to see the boy's face light up with joy when he told him they had won. But now, that hope was fading, slipping away with each passing announcement.
The participants and nominees had already climbed up the stairs to a limit so that if anyone's name was called, it wouldn't take that person a lot of time to climb up the stairs. But with that discipline was maintained.
"I didn't even expect to be in the early nine-hundreds," Burohagikun thought with a heavy sigh. "Maybe I was just fooling myself... Maybe I should just leave..."
The thought of leaving, of walking away from the ceremony without a prize, felt like a crushing defeat. But just as he was about to stand and make his way down the stairs, something happened that made his heart stop.
"Prize number 321 goes to... Mr. Boo...ro...haa...gee...kun," the king's voice rang out, each syllable pronounced with care. "Mr. Boo...ro...haa...gee...kun, could you please come up on the stage? A grand applause for him as he has won a massive amount of 32.1 million Wafferions!!!"
For a moment, Burohagikun couldn't move. Time seemed to freeze as the words echoed in his mind. The world around him faded into the background, the sounds of the festival muted, the faces of the crowd blurred. All he could hear was the pounding of his heart, a deafening drumbeat that filled his chest, drowning out everything else.
"Did I hear that right?" he whispered, his voice shaking with disbelief. "32.1 million Wafferions?!!!"
His legs felt like jelly as he turned back toward the stage, his eyes wide with shock. The crowd erupted into applause, the sound washing over him like a wave, but he barely registered it. His mind was racing, emotions crashing into each other—joy, disbelief, relief, all mingling together in a whirlwind that left him breathless.
Burohagikun's eyes filled with tears as he took his first step forward. The world around him seemed to move in slow motion, each step a monumental effort as he climbed the stairs to the stage. The king stood before him, his face a picture of calm, but Burohagikun could barely see him through the haze of emotions that clouded his vision.
"This is for Fheniz," he thought, his heart swelling with pride and love. The boy's face flashed before his eyes, his smile, his laughter, the way his eyes lit up with excitement whenever they talked about their dreams. "This is for us. We did it, kid."
His entire life seemed to flash before his eyes—every struggle, every hardship, every moment of doubt and despair. But now, all of it had been worth it. The money was one thing, but what it represented was so much more. It was proof that their work, their passion, had been recognized. It was the key to a better future, a future where Fheniz wouldn't have to struggle, where they could both live comfortably and chase their dreams without the weight of poverty holding them back.
As Burohagikun reached the top of the stairs, he paused for a moment, taking in the sight of the massive crowd below. He had never seen so many people gathered in one place, all of them cheering for him, for the shoes that he and Fheniz had created. The applause was deafening, but all he could think about was how happy Fheniz would be when he heard the news.
"This is it," Burohagikun thought, his chest tightening with emotion. "This is the moment we've been waiting for."
While Burohagikun was lost in his moment of triumph, the rest of the world was stumbling on the edge of something far more ominous. In mission control centers, the countdown to the Death Ray's activation had begun. The anticipation was so thick that it seemed to hang in the air like a storm cloud, ready to break at any moment.
"Continue warm-up sequence," the senior engineer ordered, his voice steady, though there was an undeniable tension in the room.
"Roger that. Warming up the Death Ray. Time to full charge: ten minutes," the young scientist responded, her hands moving deftly over the controls. The massive weapon began to hum, a deep, resonant sound that sent vibrations through the ground, as its capacitors charged with unimaginable power.
All around the world, trillions of eyes were glued to screens, watching the live coverage. Commentators whispered in awe, their voices filled with both admiration and fear.
"It is coming," one newscaster murmured, his voice barely audible. "We are about to witness the most powerful weapon ever created in action."
Back in the mission control center, the tension was almost unbearable. The scientists and engineers monitored every detail with the utmost precision, their eyes locked on the data streaming in from the Death Ray.
"Energy levels at 85% and rising," the technician reported. "Everything's stable so far."
The senior engineer nodded, though the furrow in his brow had deepened. "Keep a close eye on the readings. No room for error."
The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. The world held its breath, the anticipation so overwhelming that it seemed to slow the passage of time itself. In Gerwanis, the people continued to celebrate, blissfully unaware of the chaos that was about to descend upon them. A few curious souls had tuned in to the broadcasts, but for the most part, the festival carried on as it always had, with joy and laughter echoing through the streets.
But as the countdown neared its final moments, something began to go terribly wrong.
"Energy levels at 95%," the young scientist called out, her voice tense. "We're nearing full charge."
"Good. Hold it steady," the senior engineer replied, his eyes glued to the monitor. But as he spoke, something flashed across the screen—an anomaly, a warning that made his blood run cold. "Wait... What's that?"
"Sir, we've got a problem!" another scientist shouted from across the room, his voice tinged with panic. "Energy levels are spiking! We're overshooting the mark!"
"What?!" The senior engineer's heart skipped a beat as he saw the readings go off the charts. "Shut it down! Abort the mission! NOW!"
The room exploded into chaos as alarms blared, red lights flashing wildly. The scientists scrambled, their hands flying over the controls as they tried to initiate the shutdown sequence. But the Death Ray was no longer responding.
"It's not working! The system's locked!" the technician yelled, his voice breaking with fear.
"Override it! We have to stop it!" the senior engineer barked, sweat pouring down his face as he realized the gravity of the situation. But it was too late. The power buildup was unstoppable, the energy within the Death Ray growing beyond control.
"Sir, the aiming handle is breaking!" one of the engineers cried out, pointing to the screen that showed the Death Ray's targeting mechanism. Sparks erupted from the machine as the aiming handle snapped, the beam veering off its intended course. The entire weapon began to rotate, its massive barrel swinging wildly as it lost control.
"NO! NO! NO!!!!!!! This can't be happening!!!" the senior engineer whispered, horror dawning on his face as he watched the Death Ray's trajectory shift. The machine, now fully charged, was no longer pointed at the lunar satellite. Instead, it was aimed directly at Aeartha.
"Oh God... It's targeting the planet!" someone screamed, the realization sending shockwaves through the room. Panic set in as the scientists realized the full scope of the disaster that was about to unfold.
"ABORT MISSION!!! SHUT IT DOWN!!!" Horozonday's voice thundered through the control room as he barked orders into the phone, his normally composed demeanor shattered by the escalating crisis. The powerful leader of the Yahunyens, who had been watching the event from his palace with an air of superiority, was now gripped by fear. "DO WHATEVER IT TAKES!!!! I WANT THAT WEAPON STOPPED!!!!"
But the Death Ray was beyond anyone's control now. The beam's energy continued to surge, the machine roaring with a life of its own. Attempts to abort the mission were met with failure after failure, the screens displaying a relentless stream of error messages.
"System failure! We've lost all control!" a technician shouted, his hands trembling as he typed furiously, trying every command he knew. But the machine refused to respond, its power growing with every passing second.
In the control room, the atmosphere was thick with dread. The hum of the Death Ray had grown into a deafening roar, the very ground trembling beneath its might. The beam, now fully charged to 100%, was seconds away from firing, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.
"Get everyone out of here! WE HAVE NO IDEA THAT WHERE THE HELL IT'S AIMING!!!" the senior engineer finally ordered, his voice breaking as he accepted the inevitable. "Evacuate the building! Now!"
But there was no time. The countdown had reached its final moments, the digits on the screen flashing ominously: 3... 2... 1...
At that very moment, back in Kharsa, Burohagikun stood on the stage, his heart swelling with pride and emotion. Tears welled in his eyes as he accepted the prize from King Ishizal Lensior, the massive check of 32.1 million Wafferions feeling almost surreal in his hands. The crowd's applause was thunderous, but to Burohagikun, it was all a blur. His mind was filled with thoughts of Fheniz, imagining the boy's face when he told him the incredible news.
At that same moment, far away in the upside-down mountains, Fheniz had just finished the 21st page of the third volume of the history book. The darkness of the text had consumed him, his mind lost in the grim tales of the past. But something pulled him from his thoughts—a feeling, a sense that something was terribly wrong.
He stood up abruptly, the book falling from his hands as he turned to face the night sky. The stars, once a source of comfort and wonder, had disappeared. In their place was a deep, menacing red light that painted the sky in shades of blood. The clouds, which had been so peaceful earlier, were now tearing apart, revealing a sight that made Fheniz's heart skip a beat.
From his point of view on land, he could see it—a thin, bright beam of light, like a shooting star, descending from the heavens. It was beautiful in its simplicity, almost serene, as it fell toward the earth. But Fheniz knew, deep down, that this was no ordinary phenomenon. This was something far more sinister.
"What... is that?" he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. His heartbeat quickened, a sense of dread rising within him. He watched as the beam grew brighter, its descent unstoppable. It seemed so far away, just a line of light as thin as a hair strand in the vastness of the sky from his point of view, but something about it filled him with terror.
And then... it hit!!
With a sudden flash-out/flash-bang!!, Burohagikun's joys and dreams were shattered as he ceased to exist with billions of others....
The beam struck Gerwanis with unimaginable force, its impact so powerful that it shook the entire earth. Fheniz felt the ground tremble beneath his feet, a violent quake that knocked him off balance. He fell to the ground, his hands sinking into the wet mud as he struggled to stay upright.
In the distance, where the beam had struck, the sky turned a ghastly shade of red. The heavens were torn asunder, and from the point of impact, a massive explosion of light and energy erupted, sending shockwaves across the land. The laughing night was now filled with the sounds of destruction—buildings crumbling, the earth splitting open, and the screams of billions of people as they were consumed by the devastation.
Majority of Gerwanis except the northern and southern tips was completely destroyed! Trillions of flames of trillions of different colors ignited the whole country that served a stark contrast to the dark night sky. The clamor turned to chaos, the laughter turned to terrible screams and cries, the dancing bodies now ceased to exist that not even their atoms were left. The healthy, green and nature filled country.... now a mass of toxic radiation in seconds!!!!!
Fheniz got up again to run towards the rising chaos instinctively but the earth quaked again!
And suddenly!! His left leg's slipper's toe post broke! And he fell on his left half inside a small muddy pool with a loud splash. He hurt his left toe and it started bleeding, but as he got up, his half left was completely invisible as it was covered in mud. He raised his half muddy face to witness the rising chaos, the lights of darkness fading into the endless skies. His heart beat faster and faster and faster and faster and....
Heartbeat,
Heartbeat,
Heartbeat,
BLACKOUT.
Pronunciations:
Mrs. Wenshy: [WEN]+[SHY]
Edenrun: [EDEN]+[RUN]
Futonvisa: [FOO]+[TAWN]+[VAI]+[ZAA]
Natsika-Esdoranma: [NAAT]+[SEE]+[KAA]+[ES]+[DOW]+[RAAN]+[MAA]
Doubt Clearing Information:
If Yahunyens chose nighttime in Mackenas so that everyone in the world can watch it after a hard working day and know what the Yahunyens hold the power of, what about the people in the other hemisphere of Aeartha?
I am so sorry guys, I forgot to tell you one thing. All the countries of this world are in one hemisphere only. This means the other hemisphere is complete water. And thus, all countries get day and night together only. Just a little up and down here and there that's all.